The Problem With Tents
by EverSparrow
Summary: In which Draco Malfoy goes camping. Not of his own will, of course.


**Written for QLFC Round 2 - Write about a character(s) who thrives in luxury and decadence having to live a minimalist life.**

**Lots of love to my beautiful teammates Lizzie, Emma, and Bluemoon for betaing! **

** Word Count: 2829**

Draco stared at his wife, lip curled with anger and brows furrowed, his eyes overtaken by a stormy look that only came upon him when he was really and truly furious.

"No."

"Don't be ridiculous, Draco," Hermione said, raking a hand through her untamed hair. "You're going. It's only a weekend."

"A whole weekend!" Draco cried, flopping back onto the bed, digging his fists into the comforter. "This is outrageous. I put up with a lot, Hermione, but I will _not_, under any circumstances, put up with this."

"You don't have a choice. Besides, this will be good for Alexander. Merlin knows he doesn't spend enough time running around outside. That's good for a child, you know," Hermione said matter-of-factly, pushing past Draco's feet which were hanging off the side of the bed. She began rummaging around in their closet, throwing out several pairs of Draco's expensive dress robes onto the floor behind her. "Honestly, Draco, you don't need all these robes. I think we should donate some—"

"No!" Draco roared, sitting up immediately on the bed. "Not those. Those are designer, 'Mione! I paid forty-five galleons for—"

"Alright, alright," Hermione conceded, grunting as she heaved a large suitcase from the depths of the closet. "But I still don't think you need all of them."

"Don't change the subject!" Draco exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. "And put that suitcase away! There'll be no need for it. Camping is a dirty, distasteful pastime that has no practical value other than getting dirt in your shoes. And there's—creatures, out there, Hermione! Dirty creatures, like frogs, and wolves, and bears—"

Hermione sighed, throwing the suitcase onto the bed before taking Draco's hand in hers. "Draco Malfoy, you know I love you. And it's because of this that I implore you to stop complaining, or I will suggest to Harry that we extend this trip longer," she said softly, staring into his eyes.

"You wouldn't dare," Draco said, trying hard to be angry at his wife. He would not cave, not even while her beautiful eyes bore into his, and her soft skin brushed against his own—

"Oh yes I would," she said quickly with a knowing smirk, planting a kiss on his cheek before darting away towards the kitchen, where their owl was perched on the windowsill.

"No!" Draco yelled, tumbling off of the bed and sprinting towards the kitchen, where Hermione was furiously scribbling on a piece of parchment with a dripping wet quill.

"Dear Harry," she said mockingly, and Draco lunged for the quill, only to have Hermione swing herself into his way, blocking him. "Draco is very excited for the trip and would love to stay for a couple more days—"

"Please!" Draco shouted, falling to his knees, hands raised in surrender. "I'll stop complaining, I promise. And I'll go on your camping trip. Just please, please don't make the suffering any longer than it has to be."

Hermione held the quill tauntingly in front of him and he grabbed for it, fighting a smile every time she jerked it away.

"Only if you promise to be a good boy. No being mean to Harry, Ron, or anyone else, for that matter. I mean it, Draco," she said sternly, and he nodded vigorously.

"I promise," he said, and Hermione smiled at him. Quickly, he rose to his feet and embraced his wife, her smile making his heart sing. He hated camping more than anything else in the world, but he loved Hermione more than anything he could ever hate. So, unfortunately, he was going to have to camp, whether he liked it or not.

* * *

"Now Alexander, I know it will be hard for you to function during this trip without your nice clothes or a good, warm meal, or even your soft bed, but I hope you'll be able to rise above it and manage to—" Draco began, staring down at his young son, who was squirming out of his grip as he led him up the hill to the campsite.

"Dad, stop!" Alexander said, wriggling his hand out of his father's and proceeding to run the way up the rest of the hill. Draco started to say something, but Hermione put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Let him be, Draco. He's just excited," she said. Draco sighed watching his son's retreating form. Why anyone would be excited to be out in the wilderness without their bearings and nothing but dirt for miles was beyond him.

By the time they crested the hill, Draco's black leather shoes were already dirty and scuffed at the toes, and he blew out a harsh breath through his teeth, which came out more like a hiss.

"I told you not to wear those," Hermione reprimanded, and Draco bit his tongue to keep from screaming out in agony for the beautiful creatures, which were now ruined. They were his favorite shoes, of all things.

"Hermione!"

A long, gangly arm rose into the air and waved wildly, sticking out from behind a camping chair, pale and covered in freckles.

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, running down the hill and nearly dropping the luggage she was carrying. Quickly, she set down her suitcase and Alexander's little backpack in the dirt and threw her arms around the man, making Draco scowl. "I haven't seen you in ages!"

Draco stalked the rest of the way down to the campsite and set his suitcase down on an empty chair. There was no way he was putting his case in the dirt like some kind of commoner.

Slowly, he made his way over to where Ron and Hermione were chatting, and the two men faced each other awkwardly.

"Hello," Draco choked out. Ron gave him a curt nod.

"Er—hello, Mal—Draco," Ron said, forcing as much politeness as he could muster into his tone. He was always the one who'd hated Draco the most, and still held resentment for him, even after the extravagant public apology Hermione had forced Draco to give the boys before she'd even think about dating him. The witch in question rolled her eyes at the two of them, nudging Draco.

"Please do try to get along, boys," Hermione sighed, giving him a hard stare, and Draco set his jaw. "Now, where's Harry?"

"Right here!"

From the opposite side of the campsite, Draco could see Harry, black hair as unruly as ever, striding across the dirt next to his wife, Ginny, with their three kids in tow.

"Albus!" Alexander shouted, darting past his parents towards the small, brown-haired boy that stood beside Harry and the rest of his family.

"Oh, Harry, Ginny, it's so good to see you!" Hermione called, embracing both of them before saying hello to the three children.

"It's good to see you too. We've missed you," Harry said, and Ginny squealed as she hugged Hermione again.

"We have, we really have!" she exclaimed, and Hermione laughed. Draco gave them each a clipped greeting before Hermione declared that it was time for Draco to set up their tent (it was apparently the 'least he could do') while she and Ginny caught up.

At the small patch of land they'd selected to pitch their tents, Draco threw his on the ground, staring at the mess of canvas and poles he was supposed to work with.

"Have you ever pitched a tent before, Draco?" asked Harry nonchalantly, and Draco waved a hand in the air.

"Oh, of course. Many times. Pitching tents is a hobby of mine, actually," he rambled, glaring down at the tent in front of him.

"Really?" Ron asked skeptically, and Draco narrowed his eyes at him.

"Don't believe me, do you, Weasley? Well, you're in for a surprise," he said airily, stooping down and brandishing one of the poles. He was pretty sure you were supposed to bend it, but he didn't want to accidentally break it. No, maybe you were supposed to stick it into the ground and _then_ bend it. Or maybe…

Next to him, Harry and Ron had already started, the latter trying to hide his smirk, and Draco's face twisted into a glare. If he was bested by these two—no, there was no chance. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ron beginning to bend the poles into some sort of triangle-like shape that made Draco very confused.

He eventually decided to stick one end of the pole into the dirt and then proceeded to bend the pole into the center of his plot.

"C'mon," he muttered through gritted teeth. "C'mon—"

Suddenly there was a loud snap, and Draco's pole lay in two pieces on the ground.

"Damn it!" he shouted, and Ron snickered, Harry shooting Draco a concerned look.

"Do you need some—"

"No, I do not need any _help_, Potter, and I'll be damned if I can't get this blasted tent up! Reparo!" Draco yelled, jabbing his wand out in front of him to fix the pole. "I'm not going to be bested by you again, you little—"

"Draco, what are you doing?" Hermione said with a gasp, running over to where her husband stood on his knees, trying to bend three poles at once. "Do you need some help? If you break that—"

"I am _fine_, Hermione, and I do not need help. I am a bloody Malfoy, for Merlin's sake, and if I can't set up a little tent, then—"

"Please relax," Hermione said, putting a hand on his arm. "It's just a tent, Draco."

Draco took a deep breath, turning to his wife with a sigh. "Fine. But I can put it up. Really," he insisted, and she waved a hand in the air, turning away from him.

"If you say so. But please, don't take all night!"

* * *

By the time Draco had finished with the tent, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were sitting around a roaring fire while the kids played in the dirt a few yards away. Night had overtaken the campsite, spilling darkness and fireflies and stars all over the sky, and bringing with it a cold wind that chilled Draco to the bone.

Cold, tired, and hungry, he stalked over to the campfire and threw himself into a chair next to Hermione.

"I'm proud of you," she said, looking over his shoulder at the finished tent he had just thrown a few charms at to make the inside larger. "You're quite the outdoorsman."

"It was one tent," Draco said petulantly, folding his arms over his chest. "But thank you."

Looking up at the sky now, he decided he didn't completely hate it out here. The glowing embers of the fire rose up against the dark canvas over his head and matched with the stars quite beautifully, actually. Maybe the outdoors weren't completely—

"Daddy, look!" Out of nowhere, Alexander sped out of the darkness, holding something out to Draco. "Look what I found!"

Draco glanced down at his son's outstretched hands and suddenly tumbled out of his chair, stumbling backwards and away from the campfire.

"Put that thing back where it came from or so help me—" Draco bellowed, staring in horror at the frog clutched in Alexander's grasp.

"But Dad, it's just a frog," said Alexander, beginning to follow Draco with it, who yelped and sprinted out of the way.

"Get that disgusting, repulsive creature away from—"

"Alexander, please don't terrorize your father," Hermione said calmly, walking over to where her son stood, looking bewilderedly between his father and the frog he was holding.

"But it's just a frog, Mom. Why is he so afraid of—"

"Please just put it away, Alexander. Go show Albus," Hermione said wearily, and Alexander sighed, walking back to where his friends were playing.

Around the campfire, Harry, Ron, and Ginny were hiding their smiles as Draco stepped back to his chair with as much dignity as he could muster. Seeing them laughing at him was worse than any creature his son could throw at him. He, Draco Malfoy, was at ease in any situation, as long as it was indoors with air-conditioning and a martini within reach. But here, out in the cold with the frogs and dirt wherever he stepped, he was no longer in control. And that was what made camping the thing he hated most.

"Laugh all you want, but none of you were just attacked by such a ghastly creature. Call me an idiot, but I don't understand why you'd _want _to sleep outside in the woods. The bloody woods, for crying out loud. I tried to be understanding, I really did, but this is where I draw the line. I hate camping!" Draco yelled, his voice carrying through the trees and silencing every creature in the woods. As if they'd been cut off by his words, all the adults stopped laughing, and the kids ceased their playing, staring open-mouthed at Draco. The entire campsite was deathly quiet.

Angrily, Draco stormed off to the tent and threw himself onto a chair by the dining table, eyes flashing with their same stormy anger. How dare they laugh at him? He slammed a hand down on the cheap plastic table, angered further by the material. At Malfoy Manor, he'd never have to sit at a _plastic _table like this. This was all Hermione's fault. No, it wasn't. It was his. His for loving her wholeheartedly and following her around like a little puppy dog wherever she led him.

He hadn't wanted to fall in love with Hermione Granger. He'd told himself he wouldn't, begged himself not to, pleaded with his heart to choose another. But it hadn't, and he'd had to change. Had to apologize to all those prats, leave his family behind to make a new one, all for Hermione. And he'd done it in a heartbeat. He'd do it again and again and again, he knew he would. For Merlin's sake, she'd even made him go camping.

"Draco?"

There she was, walking into the tent with that familiar concerned expression on her face. It was the face she always made when she was reading, that little crease in her brow and the way her eyes stared knowingly at him, like she could stare straight into his mind.

"Alexander has something to say to you," she said, and Draco looked up from where he was penetrating the table with his stare. His son, his blond, beautiful son shuffled up to him, looking down at his little sneakers.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," the boy said quietly, still not looking at Draco. "I didn't mean to scare you with the frog."

His voice melted Draco's heart, just like it always did, and he stood up from the table, wrapping his arms around his son.

"I know you didn't mean to. I'm sorry for yelling at you," he said against his son's blonde hair, and Alexander smiled at him.

"I love you, Daddy," his son said, and Draco smiled back, his anger shaken off like a coat.

"I love you too, Alexander," Draco said, and Alexander turned on his heel, skipping out of the tent with a contented look on his face.

"And I'm sorry too," Hermione said, wrapping Draco up in a hug of her own. "It wasn't fair of me to ask you to come to this, I know that you don't like being outdoors, and it's hard for you to—"

Draco silenced his wife with a kiss, pulling her closer to him. Merlin, he loved her. When they finally pulled away, she gave him a flustered smile, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

"You don't need to be sorry. It's my fault for being such a stuck-up prat. I know this is important to you," Draco said with a sigh, and Hermione gave him a grateful smile. "But you should know that I still really, really miss our house. And the martini bar."

"I still think that was a waste of money," Hermione said scoldingly, but she gave Draco a kiss on the cheek.

"What are you talking about, Granger? I live for that bar," he said with mock outrage, and she laughed, a beautiful, lilting sound.

"If you say so, Malfoy."

* * *

The weekend passed quickly, filled with more bugs and more dirt and more campfires. But Draco resolved to do his best for his wife, fishing with Alexander, roasting marshmallows over the fire, and even swimming in that disgusting lake. Now that had been traumatizing.

But he found that he didn't despise it, not entirely. Sure, he missed his house and his bar and even Hermione's library that she spent hours locked up in, but he had to admit there was something beautiful about the way the stars shone at night, completely clear and unobstructed, and the way Alexander's face lit up when he caught his first fish, and the way Hermione looked against the embers and the firelight at night.

So maybe Draco Malfoy didn't completely hate camping. Not that he'd ever admit it.


End file.
